


American Gods

by Fratboybry



Series: No Rest for the Wicked [1]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Chrissy is here, F/F, F/M, Greek Gods AU, It’s Percy Jackson but actually has accurate depictions of teenagers, No Smut, also my Pinterest for this fic is litttttt so go check it for spoilers, and y’all are gonna love her too bc I said so, bc i love her, honestly it’s been two seasons where has she been I’m worried, its mature because of fighting and swearing, not Jeremy tho he’s too pure for that, theyre all angsty and done with this shit I love them all, you pervs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-06-10 18:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15297096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fratboybry/pseuds/Fratboybry
Summary: When Olympus fell, the Olympians reincarnated their spirits into new people, mortals born of the fury and dying breath of the Old Gods, to take back their throne from the Titans for good. The only problem? They’re a group of ragtag losers.ORThe Gods of Olympus AU with a modern twist





	1. Prologue

Lyra was tired. She felt the fatigue drip into her bones, gathering there like little pools of lead, dragging her to the floor, making every step another battle, beckoning her to fall and to finally rest. But it was bedtime, and ten minutes of sleep wouldn’t make any difference.

“Come on to bed, love.” She gently told her daughter from the doorway of the bathroom. The daughter in question was barely five years old, with wild short hair, and even wilder eyes. The only person she ever seemed to listen to was her mother, and with a short nod, finished brushing her teeth and slipped into the hall.

Lyra followed her through the dim hallway and into the bedroom. The child slipped into her bed, covering herself in her Spider-Man covers, and snuggling into the warm embrace the bed provided.

Lyra smiled to herself, and quietly slipped to the bedside table and reached to turn out the lamp- “Wait!”

“What is it, dear?”

“Tell me a story.”

“Pardon?”

“Tell me a story, please.”

Lyra sighed, but it was a pleasant sound. She lowered herself onto the bed next to the little girl, brushing hair away from her eyes and smiled gently.

“Which one do you want to hear, Nicole?”

“The world one!” She sat up in her excitement, eyes flashing in the low lamplight.

“Okay, I will tell you the world one.

In the beginning, there were titans. They ruled over everything, cruel and violent. The worst of them all was Kronos, their king. His queen however, was kind and good. It was prophesied that their children, the gods, would topple the Titans and bring order to the world. For years, Kronos did all that he could to prevent the birth of his heir, but in time, Zeus attacked his father, slaying him, and ridding the Titans of the world.

He and his wife, Hera, King and Queen of Olympus, produced the Olympians. The Olympians ruled over all, protecting man and bringing order to the world. But all kingdoms must collapse.

Kronos grew restless in his prison, and after years of failure, broke out of the underworld with one mission: to kill the Olympians and let the Titans rule once more.

Zeus knew immediately of Kronos’s plan, and came up of one of his own. The Olympians, his children and family, would all be rebirthed as humans in the world so Kronos could never find them. But one day, when they would all come of age, the Olympians would reunite and learn the truth of themselves, and together, topple the Titans, claim their kingdom for all of eternity, and restore justice to all of mankind.”

By the time Lyra finished the story, the only sound heard was the cacophony of Montana nighttime, and the even breathing of the child. Kissing her forehead, Lyra whispered.

“This world does not deserve you, my love. One day, you will claim your birthright and claim Olympus. You will make mountains crumble, and the sun will bow to you. One day, you will save all of us, Ares, God of war.”


	2. The Winds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter took a while coming in, I’ve been crazy busy with work and class, as well as a couple oneshots that will be posted in the future. I hope this chapter gives some clarity as to who’s who, and as always questions and comments are appreciated!

The man with a graying beard and even greyer eyes stood over the rubble like a single ant among the ashes of a fire. He lifted his eyes to the sky where a large storm cloud warned of tempest, and sucked in a breath, deciding it was time. He removed himself from the temple ruins, making his way back up the Mediterranean cliff side. Reaching the apex, he stood and let his coat billow out behind him as he called upon the winds to carry word to all the others that it was time to take back their home.

***

Sometimes the demons came at night, and Waverly was left scrambling to fend them off. Sanctuary could be found in the opening of a bedroom window, but victory was short lived when the shadows that played along the wall sidled in juxtaposition with the shadows in her head, and the need to be out of the house became overwhelming.

The landscape was beautiful, rolling hills hiding the homestead away from view, only to divide to provide passage to the mountains. The breeze blew around Waverly, making the loose ends of her clothes billow behind her as she closed her eyes and breathed deep. Then, the air became suddenly very warm, far too warm for a canadian autumn, and circled Waverly like a miniature tempest. For only a moment, the world seemed to glow in softer colors, and the beauty around her seemed to pull closer, as if she was the concentration of all their energy. But just as it came, it was gone, and Waverly was left swaying against the porch rail.

“Waverly, are you alright?” Gus’s voice cut through the familiarly foreign air as she appeared at the doorway

“Yes,” Waverly tried, but only a whisper came out. Closing her eyes and composing herself, Waverly spoke. “Yes, I’ve never felt better.” She said truthfully, letting the words come easily.

Gus stared for a moment, looking her up and down with suspicious eyes before zeroing on her face. Quickly stepping forward, the older woman took Waverly’s face in her hands, eyes widening in realization and a hint of fear.

“Gus, what’s wrong? I’m alright. It was just a hot flash.” Waverly questioned and assured, immediately feeling a stabbing of guilt go down her spine, despite her newly invigorated sense of self.

“A hot flash...” Gus tried the words on her tongue, but they didn’t fit. She started backing away slowly, eyes still trained in Waverly, alight with something Waverly hadn’t ever seen before. “No hot flash is capable of that. Come inside now, we must find Wynonna before someone else does.”

She turned and all but ran back into the homestead, leaving Waverly alight with energy that was both foreign and strangely familiar. However, the strange light she felt now couldn’t hold a candle to the vice grip of fear she felt over her heart.

***  
“I’m not complaining, but Sandra Bullock wouldn’t treat me like this.”

Her mother wasn’t facing her, but Nicole knew she smiled from the lilt in her voice.  
  
“Oh, how I’ve missed my little smartass. Nicole, sweetie, please unload the chickens around the back of the barn, avoid the molehill on the east side, and take Ruthie with you. Hayley and Avriel will be waiting for you when you arrive.”

Nicole sighed, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sound. Work on the ranch never stopped, even when it was 3 in the morning and she had weathered a five hour drive back from market.

But she loved her mother, she loved the smell of Montana nighttime, and she loved the old golden retriever who was already wagging her tail and looking at her expectantly.

“Alright, Ruthie. You heard her.”

The dog jumped into the flatbed with the squawking chickens in their simple prisons, nosing at their feathers and panting happily. Nicole sidled into the familiar driver’s seat, starting the ignition again and pulling out of the driveway of the ranch house and onto the path that would take them to the barn. A Patsy Cline song softly bled out of the old speakers and over the sound of Montana gravel.

Just like her mother said, Avriel and Hayley were waiting for her outside the barn, her brother talking amicably in a loud voice to her sister who leaned against the old wall and tried not to fall asleep.

She loved both dearly, but she also didn’t quite fit. Lyra hadn’t lied to her and always told her growing up, she was adopted but that didn’t mean she was adored any less. That being said, she envied them both for their relationship with the other, and it sent stabs of selfish guilt down her spine.

Stopping the truck and swinging out of the cab, Nicole opened the tailgate as her siblings sidled up with her. Climbing into the flatbed easily, Nicole began to unstick the cages of chickens to pass them down to her siblings.

“Aw Nicky, you should’ve showered.” Avi drawled in his thick backwoods accent, turning up his nose with a light smile tugging at his lips.

“You know damn well that’s the chickens, jackass. I swear to God-“ she cut off her sentence for a sharp intake of breath, her gaze now fixated on a bloody mass in one of the cages.

“Hell. Looks like a ‘yote got one of the chicks before we took off.” Nicole explained, passing down a few cages carefully, to raise the one containing the maimed bird.

That was enough to wake Hayley, prompting her to lean over the side of the tailgate for a closer look.

“Aw damn. Poor thing. It’s best to take that one out and throw it to the woods for the vultures. Won’t do any good here.”

Nicole nodded in agreement, opening the side of the cage just enough to reach an arm in and grab the dead bird’s leg, but not enough to let any of the others fly out. Once the little animal was out and the cage door closed again, Nicole held it up to arm level, only for a forceful air to suddenly strike her, making her spine curve with every nerve ending igniting to send lightening coursing through her bones. Lightheaded and overwhelmed all at once, Nicole didn’t release she was falling over the side of the truck until her brothers hands caught her and gently lowered her to the ground. The ripped apart chicken’s crimson body was still gripped in her hand and spayed across her chest, it’s cold blood finding the opening between the sides of her work jacket to stain the flannel underneath. She could hear the truck start up again and pull away back in the direction of the house, and Ruthie baying into the night like a distress call, her brother checking all over her face with attentive hands and wild, frightened eyes.

It was a horrible feeling, dark blood splattered across her chest and all over her bare hands, her veins chilling and aflame all at once, every nerve feeling like it was perched dangerously on the tip of a javelin’s blade.

It terrified her how right it felt.  
***

“Xavier, run back in and grab my tools, won’t you?” His father asked in a tone that made it clear it wasn’t a question.

Nodding and grumbling a ‘yes sir’, the young mechanic made his way back into the family shop to find the parts his father needed.

It was grueling work some days, elbow deep in machines for hours on end, running back and forth collecting parts, but he loved it. It was the family business, and his hands were like his father’s. Calloused, rough, but capable of making the most intricate and loveliest machines. It was simply in his blood.

His grandfather worked his whole life, enough to permanently bend his back and rip up his hands, so nowadays he sat on a lawn chair at the front of the garage and took naps and yelled at the workers. His grandmother worked too, down south where people agreed to the absence of slavery, but didn’t stop treating colored folks like it was still around. He didn’t know much about her job, just that she was known as ‘the help’ and he knew not to ask questions else she get fired up about it.

If there was one thing Xavier and his father always agreed on, it was that they should never be troubled, not after all they’ve been through. They’d had enough for one life.

With them sitting as king and queen overlooking the mechanical kingdom, Xavier’s father was the high priest, calling the shots and the way of life in short sentences and wise sermon.

Alexander Dolls was not a man that was hard to get along with, but one hard to tolerate for a long while. His smiles were reserved for his wife and mother, and his wisdom for his son. A tireless worker and a smart man, Xavier could remember all the times he’d come home from school and his father would ask him test question after test question while he corrected and reset machines. Xavier convinced himself that was his father’s way of saying ‘I love you’.

Mama died before he was old enough to remember her, so all the young boy had of her growing up was a picture of his parents on their wedding day hanging on the wall in the shop’s break room, and her collection of vinyls that endlessly played through the dusty and recycled air of the garage from the old record player that stood next to a lawn chair with a napping old man. It was enough for him.

The shop itself was a sanctuary. Tucked neatly into a little side street off the busy road, Doll’s autobody and mechanics was a place for the locals. Neighbors would come with pitchers of sweet tea and a bag of ice, and they would have little barbecues during break hours. They’d set up a fold up table near the head of the shop, close enough to the record player and far enough away from the cars, and set out plates of brisket and pulled pork sandwiches, striking of conversation with the eldest couple and talking about all the little pleasant things in life. Xavier was not to eat until his work was done.

All the same, as soon as Xavier smelled the smoke coming from the office of the shop, he was already sprinting back to his father.  
However, his flight was cut short when a hot wind engulfed him, pulling him to the ground and filling his lungs with flame. Coughing up mouthfuls of ash, he found himself overwhelmed with the burning power coursing through his every vein, invigorated with all the power in the world and with no power to pull himself up and away from danger. He could only lay there and let the fire claim him.

In no time at all, the room around ignited and became a furnace, fueled by all the gas and oil that lay strewn across the workspace, and the dry wood of the old shop. The world was on fire, beautiful and terrifying all at once, almost as if it was exactly as it should be.

The flames enveloped him, licking at his skin, smoke filling his lungs, his clothes already turning to ash, and he hadn’t ever felt more at peace.  
***

Wynonna figured that if she drank a few more shots, at least one of the boys at the bar would start to look halfway attractive.

But before she could clutch the small glass again, she thought of Waverly’s quiet and disappointed eyes, and slapped her hand back onto the wood top.

Stumbling off her stool and out of the bar, she staggered in the direction of her car, figuring she could call Waverly for a ride once she got the heater going.

The air had a certain chill about that warned of the upcoming winter, but there was a heaviness to it now that Wynonna didn’t recognize. All at once, the weight of the world dropped onto her shoulders, causing her to fall to her knees in the snow. She wanted to blame the alcohol for her inability to stand, but she hadn’t drank that much, and this was different. The ground beneath the snow seemed to move, the dirt trying to coerce her to sink down into it and whatever lies below.

It called to her in faint whispers, beckoning her closer, making her feel welcome. The air froze, but it wasn’t the wet snowy breeze she was used to. This air was still, motionless, stale, cold.

It wasn’t the feeling of the ground shifting under her knees that terrified her. It wasn’t the dead air that surrounded her like a blanket. It wasn’t the ghost of hands pulling at any piece of her they could grip, calling to her, gesturing to join them, tugging her down. It was the feeling of returning home that tore the air from her lungs.  
***

Those who knew them would say it was a the most peculiar thing, how a bright-eyed teenager suddenly changed all at once and was scarcely seen again. They wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly what happened that night, when the winds of the world called their saviors into existence, joining them all together to take back their rightful throne.

No one would have a clear answer of what exactly happened the night the Gods returned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STALK ME  
> Instagram: fratboybry  
> Tumblr: lexasfavoritecandle [personal] | Fratboybry [writing only]


	3. A Long Overdue Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions, rising conflict and a deeper understanding of how they all fit. I know this chapter’s a little out there with the logic of it, but if you’d ever been to a Waffle House at 3 in the morning, this would all seem very commonplace. Trust me on this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long overdue update. I’m sorry, an update to Eden should come next, then another update. I will try for it to be within the month. Thank you for the patience {but know kudos makes me happy and comments will get me to do a little extra writing}. Keep your eyes open for some oneshots soon.

“Oh, God. We’re all gonna die.” Waverly whispered to herself, surveying the teens in front of her.

In one way or another, they’d all been led here by an invisible force pulling them towards their fate. It was all very dramatic, considering the dated place was a Waffle House on the side of the highway at barely three in the morning.

“The Earp sisters, what a pleasure.” The old man welcomed them, rising from his chair to greet them. He wore madras with an old fisherman’s jacket, work pants with worn shoes, almost as if he was somebody’s grandfather. But his eyes warned of tempest, his beard was white like a cloud from the heavens, and his hair stood up at the ends, like he’d been electrocuted. Waverly didn’t know what to make of him, Wynonna figured he was probably insane, and Willa couldn’t care less.

In stark contrast to the old man and his optimistic disposition, the group of teenagers who sat behind him all looked bored, anxious, tired, frightened, or some combination of such. They sat quietly, hands folded on the table or in their laps, and their eyes scanned the lengths of the sisters, as if trying to make two cents of them. Waverly felt a stab of unease settle in her gut at their looks, until her eyes met those of a red headed stranger, and suddenly every sense of fear melted away to be replaced with safety and warmth at the sight of honey brown eyes. But the perfect stranger gave a light cough and jerked her eyes away before the feeling could last.

“Please, sit. We’ve been waiting for you.” The man gestured to the three empty seats positioned around a much too small table, and what was left but to comply?

“Now, since we’ve all finally assembled, how about we go around and introduce ourselves?”

“Could we get some clarity first, sir?” The voice came from a tanned boy sitting next to the window in the booth, who leaned forward and fixed the man with serious eyes. “I don’t know about my company, but I’m not much one for coming to a diner in the middle of nowhere to meet a group of strangers, all while pretending it’s completely normal.”

The man matched his gaze, but his features were soft, and he nodded in understanding. “I swear, all of you will leave here with your questions answered, but you must be a little patient. You’ll all be very important to each other in the very near future, so let’s take a good minute to get to know each other just a little bit. Will that be enough, son?”

The boy settled back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, and nodded just enough. “I’m not your son.” He muttered, turning his eyes away.

The man looked like he wanted to say something, but glanced at the floor instead. “Alright. Wynonna, why don’t you start?”

Wynonna, seated at his left hand, looked up from her hands and took a deep breath. “Well, I’m Wynonna. Earp. I'm from Purgatory, and I have absolutely no idea what’s going on.” She finished with a look around the table, before elbowing Waverly lightly to go next.

“I’m Waverly, Earp as well. Also from Purgatory, and I really want answers.” Waverly was able to keep the fear from her voice, but gulped as soon as she finished, and risked a look back to the redhead who seemed to be hanging on her every word.

Their moment only lasted a second, before a voice interrupted

“I’m Willa. An Earp, sadly. I want this to be over with.” Her voice was bored, and she leveled her gaze to everyone who would meet it, challenging them.

“Um, well, I’m Jeremy Chetri.” A timid voice from the booth behind them piped up, revealing a boy with brown skin and big glasses who leaned over the side of the booth to be included in the conversation. “I’m from San Francisco, and I have a few different theories as to what’s going on here, but I’m hoping none of them are true, because they all end with my murder.” He wore a blue plaid button up, with half of his collar raised, showing to everyone he wasn’t much of a threat at all.

“I’m Nicole Haught.” The redhead spoke, testing each word carefully, already on the defense and decisive. “I’ve worked and lived on a Montana ranch my whole life, and I’m not looking for trouble, but I want context.” There was finality behind her words, but it didn’t sound like she meant to do it. She wore a Carhartt work jacket that covered up most of her flannel, and she had a plain dark green beanie on her head, making her hair look all the more fiery.

The boy who’d spoken before, “Doc Holliday.”, wore a durable green button-up, and a denim jacket along with it. “I’m from Wyoming, and I’m not scared of anyone here.”

The boy across from him spoke next, “Xavier Dolls, Atlanta. I just want answers.” He didn’t look like one to talk, but his voice was firm and direct in the few words he did say.

The girl next to him took a second to take a breath, then raised her chin. “I’m Chrissy Nedley, an Arkansas native, and I am here because it felt right.”

“Rosita,” a girl with wild hair and wilder eyes spoke quickly, with her eyes darting across the room and the faces before her. “I belong to nowhere, and I will return back to everywhere but here once this is over.”

The last teenager, a lanky blonde boy who sat at the end of the bar in a white T-shirt and leather jacket spoke in a low and raspy voice. “Bobo Del Ray, born in New York, just wanting to get the hell out of whatever this is.”

A steady silence fell over them, none looking to know what to say or how to say it, just looking at each other.

The old man took a second to survey each teen’s face, letting a small smile fall over his face, before he too, spoke. “I’ve been known by many names over time, but the most accurate one to who I am would have to be Zeus, I am the last god of Olympus, and I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this.”  
***  
They’d been sitting there for almost half an hour, devoured a dozen waffles, and even the most patient of them was ready to jump the old man.

There was still more questions to be answered, but ‘Zeus’ was having a hard time sticking to the point and explaining the situation.

“Look, sir.” Xavier began, as polite as he was frustrated. “A few days ago I should’ve died. But I didn’t, and there’s no reason why.”

“Of course there’s a reason, child.” The old man stated obviously. “You have the spirit of Hephaestus in you. Why would you die by your greatest strength?”

A collective silence filled the air with questions and tension, and broke all at once.

“What does that even mean?”- “Pardon?” - Hephaestus as in the god?”- “Bullshit.” - “What about me then?” - “That doesn't answer any of our questions.”

Zeus, taking a sip from his cup of coffee nodded along with their sputtering and confusion. “Perhaps you haven’t been asking the right questions to get the answers you desire.” Pausing a cut into another waffle, he thought for moment. “I can only give you the answers you seek, not the answers you want to hear.”

Jeremy spoke first. “When you say the spirit of Hephaestus,”

“That’s exactly what I mean, boy. A god never truly dies. The spirit of the slain forgesmith inherited into Xavier’s being.” He directed his attention to the boy in question. “You are the rightful heir of Hephaestus’ throne.” He gestured vaguely around the makeshift circle. “All of you are the heir to one god or another. I’m quite sure I can presume which is which.”

Before anyone could protest or ask, he tossed his silverware down and turned to his left, beginning his examination.

“You, Willa Earp. You remind me of the passing of time and the toll it takes on us all. The circle of life and death, the beauty and tragedy of both. The changing of seasons, beautiful flowers with hidden poisons, a gentle snowfall or mighty blizzard. It’d only be rational to presume you are the heir of Demeter, goddess of the harvest, sacred law, and the balance of life and death.”

For possibly the first time in her life, Willa Earp didn’t have something to say.

“Waverly Earp, however, feels like a soft rainfall after a heavy drought. The exciting fear that comes with the sound of heels making their way closer. Young love, new beginnings and naive choices. You must be the heir of Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, love, procreation and pleasure.”

Waverly Earp, as intrigued as she was, begged to differ.

“Wynonna Earp, oh dear. You feel like penance, the final say for another person’s peril. Power, never abused, and justice, given in time. There’s a peaceful chaos residing in you. I’m sure if I looked in your eyes long enough I’d begin to see Hell. The heir of Hades, god of the underworld and keeper of the dead, obviously.”

Contrary to how Zeus described her, Wynonna Earp’s eyes made her seem very small and very scared, before becoming hard, indifferent obsidian once more.

“Jeremy Chetri, you are the essence of 2am epiphanies, people who have been silenced too long taking to the streets, and the undeniable truth. You hold the power of tragic knowledge and blissful ignorance in your head, with the spirit of revolution in your heart. You are the heir of Athena, god of knowledge and strategy, as well as courage and strength.”

Jeremy, a never-ending vessel of firing neurons and wild thoughts, took this information in silence, not quite knowing what to say.

“Nicole Haught, you carry the weight of the world well. While not outwardly violent, you’re first instinct will always be to stand your ground and fight. You are the passionate war cries before the battle, and the gentle sweeping rain that washes away the blood of the fallen bodies afterwards. You are the heir of Ares, god of war.”

Nicole’s face fell, and she didn’t bother to hide it.

“Xavier Dolls, we’ve already presumed you the heir of Hephaestus, not only because of your invulnerability to flame, but your strength as well. You have fire in your veins and a certain hardness in your soul. Your heart is made of stone for it is the only way it can survive. Calloused but gentle hands, meticulous craftsmanship, a hard day’s work, a passion to create. It’s obvious.”

Xavier chose not to reply.

“John Henry, everyone underestimates you, don’t they? They think you’re here for a good time but will never be able to know how much they need you. You feel like driving as a summer sun begins to rise, the height of ecstasy right before the fall, unwavering loyalty, and the million little things worth living for. The heir of Apollo, god of light, medicine, prophecy, music, plague, the sun, and a little thousand other things I don’t have the time to list.”

Doc didn’t have anything to say to that, so he looked at nothing in particular instead.

“Chrissy, your heart is much too big. Your aura contains the traces of the woman he left behind, and the indescribable joy of holding your child for the first time. So willing to be loved, but so rarely chosen. It’s hard being the heir of Hera, god of marriage and childbirth, queen of the heavens, isn’t it?”

Chrissy looked on the verge of tears, but ducked her head before anyone could properly see.

“Rosita, stop fidgeting. I understand this is very difficult, but it is achievable if you just try. You have the wild in you, and it cannot be contained. Nevertheless, you would sooner flee than stand trial for your consequences.” He thought to himself for a moment. “Perhaps you and Nicole could learn something from each other. Heir of Hermes, god of travelers, trade, and thieves.”

It was very apparent Rosita was not satisfied with the answer, the idea of spending time with Nicole or this man in general. Her eyes were full of hatred. The man saw, but he did not care.

“Robert Svain, you know as well as anyone how Icarus smiled as he fell. You belong to the creatures that hunt in the night, the fears of children that never really go away, all the good things that come to bloody ends. You reek of undeserved arrogance, but you’ve never been able to help that. I warn you now, Death is not an easy role to play, heir of Thanatos.”

As the boy in question began to open his mouth in jest, Zeus continued.

“Children, I can understand that this is quite a bit to take in. That’s the human in you, as you believed yourself to be. I’m sure you’re adopted families have told you of the myths and legends to which you belong. The stories of the fallen gods who will someday come back, as true as you sitting before me.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Zeus sighed.

Turning forward, his fingers traced the handle of his coffee mug. “The world needs you, children. I’m sorry I couldn't have been there for you growing up, but the ability to retain to the human in you is what will make you strong.” He drank a long moment from his cup.

“I need you to be strong now. If my instincts are correct, the waitstaff are servants of Kronos. Harpies, probably.”

He stood from his chair, and shrugged on an old fisherman’s coat. “It’s best to leave now. I do hope some of your powers have manifested by now, lest we be torn apart in brutal agony. Come, children.”

Without another word, Zeus walked outside into the crisp air, the waiters closely following.

 

**Author's Note:**

> STALK ME  
> Instagram: Fratboybry  
> Tumblr: lexasfavoritecandle [personal] | fratboybry [writing only] 
> 
> Have any questions or concerns? Just want to show some love and help my gay ass through my crippling depression? Leave a comment!


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